


Another Time, Another Chance

by datbenik513



Series: The Shadowlands Series [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-17
Updated: 2017-01-17
Packaged: 2018-09-18 04:11:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9367382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/datbenik513/pseuds/datbenik513





	

One year gone.  
  
More precisely one year, 3 months, 2 weeks, 2 days, 2 hours and 27 minutes from the moment you last saw me off to work. From the moment my whole world was shattered. From the moment I lost everything I loved, everything I believed in, everything I considered worth fighting for. From the moment I died inside.  
  
I'm pacing the street. A street, a nameless, faceless one. It could be anywhere on the world. On any continent, in any country, in any town. The thousands of faceless people could speak any of the 6,912 living languages on Earth. They could speak Japanese, just like the two teenagers kissing in the last subway train leaving Akihabara. They could speak French, just like the tourist guide showing around her guests from Paris on Trafalgar Square. They could speak English, just like the self-proclaimed orator at Hyde Park.  
  
I'm pacing the street. I'm looking into the faces of those thousands of faceless people in the hope your beautiful face would emerge from among them. Every time I stand at a railway crossing, I hope you would be there on the other side waiting for the train to pass. Every time I visit the small grocery shop just round the corner, I hope I would see you opening the refrigerator for your favourite freshly squeezed orange juice. Every time I stop to look at a shop window, I hope your reflection would emerge besides me.  
  
I'm pacing the street. I revisit each and every place we have ever been together to in the vain hope you would emerge there. King's Cross, where we first met. Hogwarts, where we were students, shared so many beautiful memories, and finally fell in love with each other. The Burrow, which was our second home for six long years. The beautiful Victorian house in Buckinghamshire where you were born and lived the first eleven years of your life. 12 Grimmauld Place, where we planned to live our life together, which is again inhabited only by old faithful Kreacher. He still can't get used to the fact that his Mistress is gone and tries everything in his powerful and seemingly endless arsenal of Elven magic to get in contact with you. He drops by every now and then at the small apartment I've been hiring in Muggle London, mumbling something under his nose about his poor Master, who is slowly killing himself. He would appear at random times with a tray loaded with food, with a basket of freshly laundered and ironed clothes, or just like that, shaking his head seeing me stretched out on the sofa, still dressed, tossing around in yet another nightmare.  
  
Another time, another chance.   
  
And then, on one day, I wake up and I know what I'm going to do. I pick up the phone and dial an unfamiliar number. The conversation is short, and five minutes later I dial another number, this time a very well known one. I listen to the familiar voice on the other side of the line, many thousands of miles away. I feel I'm doing the right thing, as I grab a quick shower, down a sandwich and some orange juice and bid good-bye to Kreacher. He nods understandingly when I explain him, where and why I have to go. He wishes me good luck and I could swear I see something resembling a teardrop in his ancient eyes, something which takes me completely off guard.  
  
Five minutes later I'm on the street, hailing the first taxi, which stops with screeching tyres. I'm making my first step towards you, as the taxi rushes at sixty miles an hour through London, miraculously avoiding other cars and passers-by alike. The driver, a huge Sikh, sees my disbelief and laughs. Then, he pulls a small photo from his pocket and I recognize the Minister of Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt on it. He explains, that Kingsley has ordered a team of Aurors including him to tail me 24 hours a day, so that he would be aware of my every movement and could interfere, if I was up to anything stupid. I need to admit his Aurors have been doing a darn good job as I never ever have had the faintest feeling of being followed. We laugh at one of Kingsley's jokes, and, without even recognizing, here we are at Heathrow. He refuses to accept the fare for the ride. We shake hands, the Auror's hand like a clasp of iron.

"Sukhad mouka!" He wishes me good luck in his own language as he takes off.  
  
Passing the revolving door, I immerse myself into the hustle and bustle of the huge airport - a city in itself. The images of countless, faceless and nameless people are blurred in my eyes, as I make my way towards the British Airways check-in desk. I have 55 minutes before take-off, so I start to get nervous, watching the huge crowd before me, but, miraculously again, the crowd soon dissipates and within ten minutes I get my boarding card. Seeing my worn handbag, the security guard looks suspiciously into my face - the worn face of a 19-year old precocious young man, burdened with the destiny he is carrying on his shoulder ever since he was born, and with the loss of every person, who truly loved him and whom he truly loved. My wand has been transfigured into a fountain pen, so there's nothing in my baggage to justify his suspicion. I pass the passport and security control and, out of breath, just a couple of minutes before the gate is closed, I hand over my boarding pass to the flight attendant.  
  
The huge Boeing 777 jet is crammed with passengers. Most of them are Australians, flying home; their cheesy dialect distantly reminds me of Dudley's Cockney. There are some Thai's on board, who will get off at the stopover in Bangkok. I wish I'd understood their fast, rattling speech. After takeoff we are served refreshments, then some stupid comedy is shown, but nobody really cares about it. I try to keep conscious, but I slide into sleep.   
  
In my sleep I dream. I dream of my very first broom flight , when I saved Neville's Remembrall. I dream of my very first Quidditch match, when I captured the Snitch, absolutely accidentally, with my mouth, almost swallowing it. My flight on Buckbeak's back during Hagrid's catastrophic first Care of Magical Creatures lesson. Our flight on the Thestrals heading towards London to save Sirius.   
  
I dream I have grown wings myself, huge, black-feathered wings. I am a condor, a magnificent, free bird. I flap my wings, take off from the hilltop I inhabit, then lay on a warm current of air as I majestically soar over the Grand Canyon in search of prey. The world is small underneath and I feel I could conquer it all.   
  
Suddenly, the sound of the two huge GE-90 engines changes, and I stir up from my sleep. It turns out, that we are beginning our descent to Sydney, meaning I have slept over almost the entire flight. I desperately try to stretch my legs, which seem not to belong to me at all. After several painful minutes, I manage to restore the blood circulation and finally feel complete. I watch from the illuminator how the ground beneath us comes closer and closer, until I manage to distinguish buildings, then cars, and finally small moving dots of people. Then, with a loud thump the 14 wheels touch down at the runway tarmac, still at a speed of 250 kph, but a reckless force pushes me forward in my seat as the plane slows down, then, after a couple of minutes taxiing, comes to a complete halt at the arrival gate.   
  
Here am I, in Sydney. A giant leap for me, if I may paraphrase the words of the first man setting his feet on the Moon. I have made my first small step towards a new life and regaining myself. I wait until the plane is emptied, then, as the last remaining passenger on board, say goodbye to the personnel and disembark the plane. The witch at the Immigration desk casts a perfect Hollywood smile at me as she examines my passport and my wand, then returns both and wishes a pleasant stay in Australia. I see only the "Exit" sign and my feet move automatically towards that direction as I blend in the crowd.   
  
Suddenly, a familiar voice cries out my name. Augusta Granger rushes in my direction, followed only a fraction later by Simon. Mum cries on my shoulder for a while, then I'm crushed into a bone-crunching hug by the former Naval officer. The poor folks got up at just about 5 am in order to meet me at the airport, even if I asked them previously on the phone not to. They say they'd missed me badly and it's been a long time since I've felt that warmth on my heart.  
  
We pick up the car at the airport parking and get in. I ask them to take me to a hotel, but they categorically refuse and insist that I stay with them. No matter what has happened between you and me, I will still be a part of the family, I am assured, and Augusta starts crying silently again. So we take off, onto the way home. During the half-hour long drive I learn in a nutshell what has happened to you during these 15 months.   
  
You moved out from your parents' place and rent a small flat not far from the university, where you study history and literature. You are popular with your classmates and regularly go out with them. You enjoy your studies and as far as your parents can judge seem to have left everything behind.   
  
Finally we are at home and I move in to the same bedroom we used to share during our summers here. I grab a quick shower; afterwards, wrapped only in a towel, I enjoy the marvellous view on Elizabeth Bay sitting in my favourite armchair on the balcony. Then Mum calls me for a breakfast, so I quickly dress and join them at the table. I feel, for the first time in 15 months, completely different and I manage to smile. I know why I'm here and what I'm going to do. Every step I make from here onward will bring me back to you.  
  
Shortly after breakfast the doorbell rings. My rental car has arrived, which I ordered previously. After finishing the paperwork, I say goodbye to Mum and Dad; they will shortly begin their day in the practice. I pocket my wallet, papers and wand and get into the car. I open the roof and enter my destination in the navigation system. Part of the Auror training was to learn how to drive a car, and, since I grew up with Muggles, I got used to their technology. So I start the engine and confidently drive off, waving a last goodbye to Augusta.   
  
The wind sweeps my hair and face and I enjoy the ride, as I sing with the music pouring from the speakers. Shortly afterwards, I park my car in front of the Department of History. Then, I wait. I watch, as students enter and leave the building, or simply sit on the steps, drinking coffee, reading, telling jokes, discussing last night's rugby match. I wait.   
  
Then, the door opens for the umpteenth time, and you emerge. You are even more beautiful than I remembered, or than I could have ever imagined. You can't see me from where you are, and you are engaged in a vivid conversation with some classmates, so my inanonimity is still preserved. I get out of the car, pull the sunglasses onto my forehead, and in a very James Dean-ish way lean against the car with my hands in my pockets. I wait. I wait for the last steps of the distance between us to be covered.   
  
Only when you are yards away from me do you realize it's me standing there. You stiffen for a fracture of a second, then thousands of emotions and feelings rush through your beautiful face. You nervously say goodbye to your classmates and slowly, very slowly move towards me. I take off as well. The last few yards we cover in a leap and soon we embrace each other in a thirsty, bone-crushing hug. My lips search hungrily for yours and we drink each other as if our lives were depending on it until we get breathless. I hold you away at arm length and look into your warm brown eyes.  
  
"I missed you all this time, Hermione," I say simply. And then we both break down and cry in each other's arms. Your classmates watch the scene curiously, then wolf whistling, applauses and cheering breaks out as you turn and wave to them smiling through your tears.   
  
To Hell with the Statute, I think, and grabbing your hand twist on my heels whirling us into darkness as the familiar sense of Apparition swallows us. Only seconds later we emerge at the top of Uluru, the place we visited several times during our summers. I felt always attracted to its ancient magic and I cherish some very special memories of you and me at this place.   
  
We just sit there and talk. We talk a lot. No blames. No rows. We talk of what had happened then and afterwards. We talk of our love, of then and now. Our hands won't separate for a second. Our lips taste each other's, mine enjoying your taste of chocolate and peppermint. We just sit there and wait. Wait for the sun to set. And then it's dark and the endless, starry sky spreads its embroidered blanket above us.   
  
This night is magical. I feel the ancient spirits fly around us, talk to us, touch the very depth of our souls. Overwhelmed by this feeling and our love, we find each other again. We make love under the starry sky and our bodies and souls unite. Our last cry of lust still echoes in the complete silence of the September night. Exhausted, overwhelmed, unable to speak, we fall asleep, your body on mine, your head on my chest. In my sleep I hold your precious, fragile body tight.   
  
Again, I dream of being a condor. But this time, I'm soaring over Uluru, answering your cry, as you call me home, towards our roost.  
  
I am woken by a chilly wind. For a moment not realizing where I am, I try to locate my glasses. Finally, I put them on and the world around me obtains forms and colors again. I appear to lie under a blanket. You are nowhere to be found. I jump up and, still naked, search for you. My desperation grows stronger by the second. Then, after an hour, I give up. I put my clothes on and reach for my wand to Apparate away, when I feel something in my pocket. It turns out to be a carefully folded piece of parchment and I immediately recognize your small, neat letters of your handwriting.   
  
"My dearest love,   
  
I thank God for the chance He had given us to be together again, once more.   
  
My heart was, is, and always will be belonging to you. I couldn't ever have imagined a better man, friend, lover and husband for myself and a better, more caring father for my children.   
  
I am torn. Our absolutely unexpected meeting yesterday tore me apart. On one hand, I realized that I can love only you. There can never be another man in my life. On the other hand, however, I feel if we get together again, I will have to live my entire life with the feeling of guilt for what I've done to you in the past. Even if you forgave me a thousand times, even if there was really nothing to beg your forgiveness for - as you said - I will feel guilty for ruining your life.  
  
I might be a bookworm, a know-it-all, an exceptional student, but I am only a weak woman and I cannot handle even myself. In the past 15 months I suffered a lot for my past deeds, but finally I managed to climb out of the pit I'd fallen into and build up at least the illusion of leading a normal life. I just don't feel I'm up to it, to break the façade and start it anew.  
  
I wanted you to know that last night was wonderful. You made me feel like a woman to an extent that even in our best times was impossible to imagine. I am confident that I'm carrying your child, your baby girl, the sweetest fruit of our love. She will know what a wonderful person her Daddy is and how much her Mum loves him. In due time, if you wish to do so, you will meet each other.  
  
My dearest Harry, I'm saying my goodbye to you now. I want to thank you for your existence, your love and patience, and everything you have ever done for me. I am sure we will meet again, in this life or beyond the Veil. In another time, we shall have another chance.  
  
Forever yours,   
  
Hermione"   
  
With shaking hands, I drop the parchment, and fell on my knees. I let out a painful cry from the very depth of my soul, which stirs a colony of bats nesting in one of the caves awake. Tears fall freely from my eyes as I stand there on my knees, the chilly wing sweeping my face again.   
  
Then I hear them. The ancient spirits of the Anangu are calling.   
  
Suddenly I feel an itching sensation on my back. I try to feel it with my hand, but my fingers are gone. Large, black feathers grow instead from my arm and I turn into a magnificent condor. I emit an excited cry from my beak, spread my wings and take off from the edge. For a moment, I fly. I soar over the Uluru, just like in my last dream, and I feel I can conquer all this.   
  
But my wings are too weak. They cannot carry my body and Earth comes closer and closer.   
  
And then...darkness.  
  
I am in my old body again. I lie in darkness, naked, on the ground. I lie there, for what it seems, an eternity.   
  
Then, a door opens, letting a sharp ray of light in the darkness. People seem to come through the opening. They seem familiar and they seem to smile. I stand up, still blinking with my eyes. I am cold. Then, my Hogwarts robe appears from thin air and I put it on. The people come nearer. I can make out their faces.   
  
I spread my hands and walk in their direction, with a broad smile on my face.   
  
"Mum! Dad! Sirius! I'm home!"


End file.
